


Banked

by jottingprosaist (jane_potter)



Series: Set Fire to Our Bed [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7341874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_potter/pseuds/jottingprosaist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Mercer punishes Alik for botching the Goldenglow job, Brynjolf steps in to give Alik a shoulder to lean on and a helping hand. The hand ends up going rather farther than Brynjolf had planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Banked

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo, I said I'd have this done months ago... Shout out to that one anon who prodded me about finishing this and posting it.
> 
> Particular thanks to that one reddit board that informed me that apparently an erection on its own doesn't feel like much of anything except for pressure, and gave me various techniques for jerking off a circumcised/uncircumcised dingle. That's what the Internet's for.
> 
> ...*sighs* Also, this has definitely spawned some more ideas for sequels with Sapphire and Niruin, and possibly Thrynn and Vex. Shoot me a comment if you've any ideas you'd like to see written.

The worst thing, to Alik, wasn't the feeling of screwing things up royally: the shame, the humiliation, the self-loathing. He had made entirely too many mistakes in his twenty years to find those emotions novel. Mistakes were what _happened_ when you were a street brat who learned by risky trial and grievous error.

No. The worst part was finally having a place to _belong_ , because it meant that when he fucked everything up, he had a sleeping-place he was expected to return to, friends and colleagues to face the next day. And the next. And the next.

Even if they'd seen him bent bare-assed over the Guild Master's desk and spanked like a-- a _boy_.

Alik took another hard swig from the bottle, grimacing. Of all the bottles he'd had to grab, it would be mead. Fucking honey. Fucking _bees_. At the memory of what had gotten him into this mess, his gut roiled. He drank again but found himself unable to stomach it, and spat out the cloying dry-sweet mouthful into the the Ratway below, the dark gap where the drawbridge had been raised.

His head spun a little, threatening to overbalance him right off the edge and twenty feet straight down. Pain shot through Alik when he shifted hastily back. Every little movement was enough to make his ass hurt. The pain was fresh and sharp enough that Alik found himself remembering his bloody fingers, wondering how badly Mercer had cut up his rump. He'd only been hit four times with the steel-edged rule, and yet...

He took a breath to steel himself and reached a hand down the back of his pants. The exploratory touch drew a hiss out of him. His skin was raw, the muscle throbbing, but his fingertips found no blood. Then-- a rough, raised line that seared horribly when he touched it. Another. Three weals in total, rough with scabs of accelerated healing from the potion Brynjolf had gotten him.

Alik swallowed the hot lump in his throat and drank.

The entrance to the Ragged Flagon was right behind him, but he was still shaking and his ass hurt too much to walk farther, let alone to get safely out of the Ratway. He'd have to hope that nobody came out and found him lurking two halls away outside the Flagon, leaning gingerly on the wall and occasionally leaking a few more humiliated tears. Bad enough they'd seen what Mercer did; if they saw this--

Of course that was when the Flagon's door creaked open down the corridor behind him. Alik wiped hastily at his face, hissing, "F'all the fucking _luck_!"

It was Brynjolf, pale-faced and drawn with anxiety. It was a strange look on the usually composed Day Master. "There you are, lad. I'd hoped you hadn't gone far."

Sway-headed, Alik saluted sloppily with the bottle and took another pull to drown his fresh embarrassment.

"You all right?"

The fact that Brynjolf was his mentor flew out the window. Alik gave him a lip-curling stare of disbelief.

"Perfect," he said bitterly.

Brynjolf looked, if anything, even more drawn. "I'm sorry," he said. "Lad, I am. That should never have happened. I shouldn't have-- Mercer was wrong to do that."

It didn't help. In fact, it brought a sudden and unexpected sting of tears to Alik's eyes as his humiliation was made fresh in the face of Brynjolf's genuine remorse.

"It's fine," he said thickly, spinning around to face back out into the darkness of the Ratway. He hunched and slouched as close to the wall as he could without actually hiding his face against it. "I'll just-- I." A hiccup of breath punched out of him. " _Shit_. I-- I should just leave. I can't... How do I even--"

"Alik, _no_ ," Brynjolf said, stepping in close to put his hand big and anxious on Alik's shoulder. "We'll work this out. You're not going anywhere."

"How do I go back?" Alik demanded. "After they saw--"

Saying it made him remember. He screwed his eyes shut.

(Mercer's hand, hard and hot on the back of his neck. Fingernails leaving red marks. The obscenity of being bare-assed and bent over, the cruelty of public humiliation. Brynjolf and Mercer looming over him from either end-- fighting over him. Mercer's ragged breath behind him.)

Alik groaned and took another slug from the bottle. It was more than half gone now, and even for a Nord that was a lot of mead in a short amount of time. The flush and dizziness of pain hadn't gone away; thanks to the mead, they were stronger than ever.

Brynjolf squeezed the hand still resting on his shoulder. "Lad?"

"Has he ever done that before?" Alik demanded, turning back to Brynjolf.

It took Brynjolf a moment to reply. "I-- No," he managed eventually. "That's not how things are. Not how they should be, at least. I'll be talking to him about that, you can believe me."

Alik gave a high-pitched laugh. "I guess not, or you wouldn't have anybody left here. If he'd tried Vex after she botched Goldenglow... Why me?"

"You're young," Brynjolf pointed out, looking uncomfortable. "Alik. Do you..."

"Do you think he just wanted to see my ass, then?" Alik asked. Humiliation had made him shy, but now the alcohol and anger made him glib, as if by joking he could leach the embarrassment of its power. And fuck it, Brynjolf had already seen him bare-assed and crying anyway; there was no taking that back. "It is a nice ass, isn't it? Who wouldn't want me bent over?"

Brynjolf's response was wordless and strangled. To Alik's bafflement, it took him three tries to speak. His eyes kept darting down and then up across Alik's face. At last, he said in a strained voice, "Lad, after what Mercer just did, the last thing I want is to... overstep. You're going to have to say it very clearly if you want something from me."

"...What?"

Brynjolf glanced down again. His meaning sank in and Alik realized that there was pressure in his pants at the same moment that his own eyes followed Brynjolf's down. This time, there was no desk to hide his erection.

How long had he been hard?

Alik's mouth fell open. He dropped the mead bottle with a clatter and it rolled off the floor's edge to shatter in the dark below. Seeing the mortification on his face, Brynjolf abruptly let go of his shoulder and stepped back.

"I didn't mean," he began.

"It's all right," Brynjolf said hurriedly. "You don't need to--"

"I just-- what Mercer did, it just happened, and I--"

Whatever Brynjolf had been going to say, he shut his mouth on it. Alik realized that there had been no cause at all for him to blurt out that the spanking had turned him on; Brynjolf had given him an easy way out with no questions asked. After all, whose cock _didn't_ stand up at a few inopportune times (and refuse to stand at even worse ones)? But then he'd gone and admitted--

Wait.

"Were you going to say yes?" he demanded. His heart was pounding in his ears.

"I obviously misunderstood," Brynjolf said. Like every Nord with red hair Alik had ever known, Brynjolf flushed easily.

"No. If I asked--"

"But you didn't, and I'm not going to push that line with a new recruit."

"But if I _did_ ," Alik insisted, stepping forward. Everything had focused down to this single question, a driving need to know. He saw Brynjolf's mouth part with surprise at whatever expression was showing on his face. "If I said please, sir, put your hand on my cock. Help me."

Hoarsely, Brynjolf said, "Don't say sir."

Alik jerked his chin up stubbornly. "Not even if I want to?"

Brynjolf let out a breath and raked a hand through his hair, staring at Alik with disbelief and-- and desire, yes, it was desire. Not speculative appreciation like Thrynn's, not callous hunger like Dirge's, but a look that said he couldn't quite believe what he was being offered.

"This isn't going to be a thing," he warned. "You're just-- you're still my lad, all right? We still have a job to do."

"All right," Alik agreed, because he couldn't have turned the opportunity down no matter what conditions came attached to it. He doubted Brynjolf knew what it did to be called 'my lad,' either. Brynjolf meant his _recruit_ , his _responsibility_ , his _underling_. To Alik, it was the sort of phrase he could roll over and over in his mind while he jerked off, imagining possession and hunger and warm belonging.

He had to step back to lean against the wall. The movement seemed to pull Brynjolf in-- one step, then three, the whole distance between them except for a handspan of last-second hesitancy.

"Tell me what you want," Brynjolf murmured in his ear.

The shudder that went down Alik's spine made him squirm against the wall. "Please don't judge me," he whispered.

"Never," Brynjolf promised, and for a thief, he had such a way of making you believe he was _honest_. "So you're having a bit of trouble shaking things off. Goldenglow, Mercer... It happens. I've got you, lad."

"Touch me," Alik rasped, unable to make his voice work above a rasp. "Please. Sir." Each successive word cost him dearly, but it was pleasurable, too. Dirtier and hotter. From the rough breath that Brynjolf blew out, he must have thought so as well.

Brynjolf's hands skimmed down his Guild leathers, which were still damp with lake water. There would be soot and silt in the seams for weeks, Alik thought. It might be worth it to pay Balimund's apprentice to clean and oil the armour for him...

And then thought abandoned him as Brynjolf reached his thighs and settled there, thumbs to the arches of Alik's inner thighs, squeezing. There, at least, Alik was muscle and sinew, a tireless runner, not skinny and strengthless. He automatically shifted to spread his legs father, shoulders pressing back into the brickwork. Tension made his ass flex and ache. A low choked noise made it out of his throat.

"Easy," Brynjolf said. "I've got you."

Alik took a shaky breath. Tentatively, he leaned forward and dragged his lips across Brynjolf's neck, nosing into the crook of his shoulder. Being just a few inches shorter than Brynjolf, he was a perfect fit, and he wanted to bury his face there. "Have me more."

One of Brynjolf's hands slid to his crotch and squeezed gently. The first frisson of direct pleasure made Alik jerk his hips into the touch. Brynjolf's adept fingers traced his cock through the leather for another few moments, teasing and wonderful, before he reached for Alik's belt with both hands. Alik shouldn't have been surprised that Brynjolf of all people could have his belt and laces open in a handful of seconds, but it made him laugh anyway.

Brynjolf returned the chuckle into his ear as he loosened Alik's smallclothes and slipped a hand in. Alik's laugh broke into a high, sharp sound of shock more than anything else: shock that Brynjolf was touching him, even though he'd known it was happening. Shock that it really _was_ happening. Then Brynjolf tucked the loosened waist of his smallclothes underneath Alik's balls and that was it, there was nothing else in the way.

Alik glanced down to see his belt open, his cock curving hard and pink in the air, the dark delicate tip just peeking from beneath its hood. Shortish, though, which made him bite his lip. But without any further laughter, Brynjolf flexed his fingers just as he did before lifting a lockpick and wrapped his hand around it, his grip sure.

"Like that?"

"Yes sir," Alik whispered. "Like that. I like that. _Ah_."

He couldn't look any more, had to tip his head back and bless Dibella in fervent silence. Without meaning to, he brought his hands up and hooked his fingers behind the leather guards on Brynjolf's upper arms. It pulled Brynjolf a few inches closer, closer enough that his mouth was nearly on Alik's ear and Alik's mouth almost against his throat.

They took the temptation at the same time, save that Alik went at Brynjolf's neck with tongue and wet lips, and Brynjolf caught his ear with teeth. Gentle teeth, to be sure, but it made him moan all the same. Brynjolf made a noise of knowing satisfaction and breathed hotly in his ear, tongue tracing slick whorls around the shell before he bit the lobe.

"Is that better, then?"

"Could do with more," Alik said, hinting with his hips.

Brynjolf responded with a lick and a stroke of his hand that pushed the loose skin of his cock back from the head. Alik shivered at the pace Brynjolf set, a slow rhythm of short tugs that kept his dry palm from chafing. It was rough, still, but it was obvious he knew how to handle an unoiled cock. Alik wondered if that meant Brynjolf preferred a dry hand as well, which put a tingle in his belly and a wonderful series of images behind his eyelids.

"Talk to me, lad," Brynjolf urged.

"It's good," said Alik, after a breathless moment. "I-- oh. I can't-- I don't know what to say," he confessed, embarrassed. "You talk to _me_."

"Shall I?" Brynjolf pressed in the last inch, putting them chest to chest and pushing Alik back against the brick. His hand kept its deliberate pace. "Tell you how good you sound like this?"

"Sir, _please_."

"It's all right. I've got you. I'll get you there, never fear."

His words were far more soothing than dirty, but they worked just the same as 'my lad.' It made Alik shiver with unexpected warmth, made him wonder if that meant Brynjolf knew _exactly_ what he was doing by calling Alik his lad. Uncertain how to take the pleasure of it, he squirmed against the brick and chewed his lip fretfully. His ass burned at the friction.

It was harder to restrain himself from rolling his hips into Brynjolf's hand than it had been to keep still for Mercer. Brynjolf clearly knew what he wanted to do, though, and murmured, "Hold still."

When Alik did so, sighing shakily against Brynjolf's neck, Brynjolf rewarded him with a couple of faster strokes that made him jerk again. "You're a jumpy one," he said, his voice warm and secret in Alik's ear. "Takes a light touch to handle you, doesn't it. I know, lad. I wish I could have handled you myself, earlier."

The image of Brynjolf hitting him in front of the Guild put a horrid damper on Alik's mood. His guts twisted with fresh shame. "Not like that," he protested, small-voiced. "I got hard-- Mercer made me-- but I didn't want..."

Brynjolf took a sharp breath. "That's not what I meant. Not like that. Never like that, I promise you."

It wasn't the time or place, but suddenly Alik needed to know. "Would you throw me out of the Guild?"

Brynjolf's hand slowed, stopped. With a sigh, he put his free hand behind Alik's head, fingers buried in his curls, and pressed his face to Alik's temple. It wasn't quite a kiss, but it wasn't the hot and slick tonguing he'd been doing earlier, either. It was just close. Intimate.

"I can't say never, but not over this. A Guild's not worth anything if it doesn't have people in it. And you-- I've got faith in you. I've got a feeling. You're the best thing that's happened to us in a long time."

"Oh," Alik said, then, " _Oh_ ," as Brynjolf began to rub his cock slowly again. He was as grateful for the unexpected praise as for the fact that Brynjolf hadn't let him sit around and choke on his own tongue trying to respond appropriately-- or worse, cry again out of relief. The best he could do was clutch at Brynjolf's armour and make indistinct noises of pleasure in time with Brynjolf's hand, since he remembered how Brynjolf had said he sounded good.

Still cradling the back of Alik's head, Brynjolf kept up his slow rhythm until Alik was twitching impatiently again.

"Faster," Alik hissed. "Please."

Brynjolf grunted, the cautionary noise he made when Alik got reckless with a locked training chest he couldn't quite manage. "Try to relax and enjoy it."

"'M sorry," Alik mumbled. "Sir. I can't-- I don't mean to..."

"You're doing just fine."

Bryjolf's thumb circled across the tip of his cock, then slid slickly around to the sensitive underside, eased by a bead of wet. Alik's breath shuddered.

"That's it," murmured Brynjolf, as he continued to finesse the underside of Alik's cock with small, delicate strokes of his thumb and the barest edge of his nail. Within moments he had found a place and pressure that made Alik gasp. Each touch was so small, but felt white-hot, too intense to sense details through, almost too intense to bear.

A shiver started in Alik's knees and spread up his spine. Clinging to Brynjolf's armour was all he could do to make up for how his hips trembled uncontrollably. To his relief, Brynjolf seemed to understand how hard Alik was trying to remain still-- to know how _fucking_ difficult he was making the job-- and didn't caution him again. Alik didn't know how long the agonizing tease went on for, only that he was undone by it. His open mouth dragged across Brynjolf's neck, gurgling incoherent noises because the effort of forming words would have taken him away from getting lost in the pleasure.

" _Ah_ ," Brynjolf said, finally breathless himself. "There we are. Look at you, lad." His hand in Alik's hair tugged when Alik failed to respond after a moment. "Take a look at yourself."

Alik's cock was fat and flushed, and it had leaked clear slick all down Brynjolf's thumb and wrist. The sight of Brynjolf's talented hand wet with his slick made Alik's cock jump and leak yet more. A thick bead pulsed out of his slit and ran easily down the trail already wetted.

Almost sobbing for breath, Alik gave a high, desperate whine and buried his face against Brynjolf's neck again. He hadn't realized that cocks were for more than jerking or humping or fucking into a hole, but here Brynjolf had turned his into a delicate, desperate, painful instrument, as finely tuned as a breath-sensitive trap wire. He was nowhere near to coming but ready to scream for release anyway. Brynjolf could have played with him all night. If he took control. If he felt cruel.

" _Please_ ," Alik whined. Grovelling was humiliating, and it was filthy, and it was perfect with Brynjolf as it had not been under the eyes of the Guild, with the hand of an anonymous guard twisting his ear, before a shopkeeper denying him scraps. Whether Brynjolf denied him or not, Alik would still be his lad. Brynjolf would still have mercy in the end. "Please sir, please, I can't, sir please I need please--"

"Fuck," Brynjolf said, hoarse and shocked. "Lad, I-- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

And before Alik could protest no, he hadn't meant stop, he'd only meant-- he didn't know-- Brynjolf had tightened his fist and was jerking his cock with tight, quick strokes. Direct pressure was a shock after the endless teasing of a single frayed nerve. Alik's knees tried to buckle, but Brynjolf's weight on his chest held him against the wall, crushed the breath out of his already breathless lungs. In his ear, Brynjolf was murmuring, "That's it. There you are, that's it. Easy, lad, I've got you. That's it," and Alik was gasping open-mouthed, voiceless as pleasure came hard up over him, and then it was _there_. Alik thrust his cock into Brynjolf's grip, grunted out his last gasp of air, and came in a hot hard pulse that slicked Brynjolf's fingers as he fucked through them again and again.

The passing of orgasm's peak left Alik shaky and strange. He got a breath, then two, and his cock was still dribbling weakly into Brynjolf's hand but his chest had gone hollow. He felt... disappointed? Mortified for certain. When he'd begged, he hadn't wanted... he'd thought Brynjolf might... might understand that Alik didn't need an end, he needed an-- an _anchor_ , a fist in his hair-- Mara's mercy, a hand on his throat, like Mercer's, like the nails digging into his neck and the weight on his back, horrid at the time but electrifying in thought, if it were Brynjolf. But he hadn't...

"There you are," Brynjolf murmured, low and tender in Alik's ear. "Just like that. Perfect. How was that?"

"Good," was all Alik could manage. His heart thumped so hard it hurt. "Yes. Good. Sir."

"Good," Brynjolf agreed. "I'm sorry I played with you, lad. I shouldn't have forgotten myself."

"It's fine," said Alik quickly. He tugged at Brynjolf's shoulder guards, anxious to keep the man from drawing away, from thinking Alik was displeased.

He nuzzled Brynjolf's neck and got a sharp gasp. Scrambling, hungry, a little desperate, Alik scrabbled his fingers across Brynjolf's armour, prying and tugging at straps and crevices for a sliver of the skin beneath. Even Alik's familiarity with his own Guild leathers didn't help him when the buckles were on somebody else and backwards.

"Hold on," Brynjolf said. "You don't have to do that."

" _Sir_ ," Alik said, punctuating it with an outright grab of Brynjolf's ass. He was sure Brynjolf felt it even through the cuirass' back flap. "But don't you want my-- my mouth on your-- big-- thick c-cock, your-- don't you want--" Much as he wanted the act in abstract and imagination-- _Divines_ did he want it-- he choked on the words. His face burned.

Brynjolf cursed and bit Alik's ear. For a man who wanted words and noise, even a stammering tease was enough. "You sure about this?" he said through gritted teeth, obviously worked to his last scrap of mentorial forbearance.

"Yes. _Yes_."

"Go on, then," Brynjolf growled. He tugged his hand through Alik's curls one last time and stepped back, eyes hot.

Given the least bit of room, Alik went to his knees before Brynjolf could change his mind. His mouth couldn't say the words, but it watered at the thought of tasting Brynjolf's cock the way he'd idled over in a dozen fantasies. Some acts he wasn't sure about, given the reluctant way some of his friends on the street had mumbled about them, but he knew hands and he could imagine tongues. He'd sucked his own fingers often enough to know he wanted something bigger to slobber on.

Brynjolf didn't help Alik with his belt and laces, just let him fumble through with a petting hand in Alik's hair. The gentle, benevolent ownership of it made Alik's nerves sing. He was distracted from the task at hand until Brynjolf sighed when Alik squeezed his crotch a little by accident. Inspired, Alik leaned in and rubbed his whole face against the bulge in Brynjolf's trousers. Brynjolf groaned.

Alik's face was already directly in the way when he finally freed Brynjolf's cock. It bumped the bridge of his nose. Embarrassment at the indignity was far outshone by reassurance that Brynjolf was already almost completely hard. He hadn't made a fool of himself after all-- or if he had, then Brynjolf had liked it. Had wanted him squirming and pleading.

With an urgent noise, Alik pressed his mouth to the nearest bit of Brynjolf's cock, applying lips and then tongue, quickly, when his dry skin dragged. He kissed gracelessly down the shaft, just as eager to touch in any way possible as to actually give pleasure. He was hungry for it, had been hungry for a long time, since familiarity with hands and dry humping had bred contempt. It was just a spectacular bonus that the cock he finally got to taste was Brynjolf's.

Above him, Brynjolf groaned in the back of his throat. The hand in Alik's hair curled fretfully, though it didn't grip. ( _Yet_. Alik shuddered.)

He turned his head to feel his hair pull and dragged his open mouth down the side of Brynjolf's cock again. It jumped, thick hot flesh flexing against his tongue. Startled and spurred, Alik gasped. The cock pulsed again; a string of spit pulled from Alik's tongue to break on his chin. He smacked his lips, momentarily distracted by the sensation. It took a conscious decision not to wipe away the mess, fearful as he was of looking a fool. But if his imagination was right...

The slackening of Brynjolf's mouth when Alik turned his face upward was all the proof Alik needed. Though his stomach churned, he managed to hold eye contact with Brynjolf for a whole five seconds while he ran his tongue up and down Brynjolf's cock, letting his spit run everywhere. Then, exhilarating as his mentor's arousal was, Alik had to duck his head again, to hide from the exposure that curled his insides even as it heated them. Would the two ever stop conflicting?

He distracted himself by finally getting a hand on the base of Brynjolf's cock. Now, he knew-- now there was the sucking. The sucking that he _wanted_. Still, the confrontation of a cock in his face made him hesitate for a moment before finally grabbing up the courage to open wide and take it.

Alik choked a little at the first bump of cock against his palate. Over-enthusiasm or just startlement, he didn't know. Embarrassed, he drew back and gave another clumsy suck even as Brynjolf petted and murmured, "Take it easy." He didn't _want_ to take it easy, he wanted to suck a cock, to-- to slobber all over it, to take it all, to get everything. He didn't even know what all was involved, but he knew he didn't want _easy_.

Moaning in the back of his throat, Alik bobbed his head up and down, taking as much of Brynjolf's length into his mouth as he could each time. He couldn't figure out how to seal his lips properly, and the noise of his messy sucking echoed off the close stone walls. Neither could he manage to stop the occasional choke of his gag reflex. But Brynjolf made noises that only encouraged Alik in his sloppy technique. Thank the gods Brynjolf was a talker; even with the man's cock hard in his mouth, Alik was anxious enough to crave reassurance.

"Divines help me," Brynjolf was muttering, "look at you. Ah. Talented lad. Clever. Didn't expect-- _ah_."

The fact that he sounded utterly surprised about his pleasure didn't deter Alik, either. Let him be shocked; let him be stunned; let him look at Alik like he'd never seen his apprentice properly before. He hadn't really, had he? Because Alik had been careful not to let Brynjolf know that he'd had more than passing and professional thoughts of his mentor. He'd had enough to do with proving he could do the _job_. But now he was on his knees for Brynjolf, sucking cock like he would cram it down his throat if he only could, and there was no taking that back. Let Brynjolf _know_ , and maybe, just maybe, he might-- might--

Another greedy slurp and tears sprang up at the corners of Alik's eyes. Alarmed and annoyed, he tried to squinch them away before Brynjolf could think he was crying. It was effort, pure and simple, and the strain of the act. He _hated_ how he always seemed to start leaking at the slightest of things.

Brynjolf's hands on his cheeks made Alik startle, but to his relief Brynjolf only smeared the tears away with his thumbs. Then Brynjolf's hands settled on more firmly, holding just enough to urge him a little faster.

Alik needed no second hinting (but he might _like_ it, said the shiver down his spine). He took a moment to gasp a wet breath, then moved his head more quickly. Drool splattered down his chin, down his neck, cold in the Ratway's damp air.

Lack of air was making his head spin. He didn't know what to do with his tongue, didn't think he could coordinate its movement without losing speed, so he just pressed it against the underside of Brynjolf's cock as he sucked and hoped for the best. His tongue ached, his jaw hurt, but he was doing all right, wasn't he? He was doing well: Brynjolf was panting, that was good, he was doing _good_. He had to-- had to... try to make his hand move in time with his mouth, maybe, to jerk Brynjolf off at the same time, because the ache in his jaw was getting sharp.

It was _frustrating_. He actually had Brynjolf's cock in his mouth, hard and hot as Hammerfell steel, but reality had to intrude. Even though Alik's skin was feverish with arousal at the very _idea_ of sucking Brynjolf's cock, the reality of it was different in unpleasant ways. Why couldn't it be simple? And what if the pain got too bad, what if he didn't manage to finish Brynjolf, if--

Then, before he had time to panic, Brynjolf caught his hair and twisted sharply. Pleasure jolted down Alik's spine, interrupting fear.

"Hold still," Brynjolf rumbled, as if his grip wasn't enough warning. He fumbled his fingers under Alik's and replaced the grip Alik had on his cock. Desperate to please, Alik tightened his lips around Brynjolf's cock and stared up at him, hoping for positive cues.

The expression on Brynjolf's face was _good_. He wasn't looking down at Alik, but even though Brynjolf's head was canted back Alik could see how Brynjolf's mouth was slack and his eyes were shut with obvious pleasure. Alik suddenly understood what was happening as Brynjolf began giving his cock short tight jerks, his knuckles bumping Alik's lips. His cock was just long enough to admit his fist a bit of room to stroke with the head of it still cradled on Alik's tongue.

Drool overflowed from the corner's of Alik's mouth when Brynjolf's knuckles broke the seal of his lips. Alik swallowed awkwardly, lost more spit than he held back, and gave up. Spit ran down his chin as he tongued Brynjolf's cockhead, clumsy little licks, the best he could do to help, to pleasure-- and then Brynjolf's cock jolted against his palate and Alik choked and there was hot salt on his tongue, a sudden rush of fluid spilling from his mouth along with his own drool.

Remembering every bitter joke he'd ever heard about bedmates refusing to swallow, he tightened his lips again, sucking with renewed vigor now that Brynjolf's fist had stilled. Brynjolf's cock pulsed weakly against his tongue. Alik grunted and swallowed, swallowed, struggling to get everything. It wasn't _good_ , exactly, but it was Brynjolf's and it was there, and he had to... He opened his mouth to try to catch the seed smeared on his lips, on Brynjolf's shaft, his tongue darting messily-- and Brynjolf groaned, snapping Alik's attention back to the man himself.

"Shor's bones," Brynjolf murmured, and stroked Alik's hair back from his face. He let his cock slip out of Alik's mouth and replaced its weight on Alik's lower lip with his thumb, fingers cupping his chin with utter disregard for the mess. Alik shuddered hard. Brynjolf's touch was gentle, his eyes outright tender. "You're really something, aren't you, lad."

Panting, Alik sat back on his heels, aglow with praise. When the nearly forgotten welts on his ass panged sharply against his heels, he shuddered but didn't squirm away from it. Even the filthy state of his face couldn't make humiliation touch him through the glow.

"Yessir," he whispered. His throat rasped. "Yeah. I-- yeah."

The moment lasted wonderfully until something shifted behind Brynjolf's eyes.

He cleared his throat. "Let's get you cleaned up, then," he said. The hand that wiped Alik's chin with a kerchief that had appeared from some hidden crease of his armour was as gentle as ever, but something was different about it. Something was missing.

Alik coughed and ducked his head. He wiped the rest of his face clean on the back of his sleeve. When Brynjolf grabbed his elbow, he mumbled thanks and let himself be helped to his feet, but he didn't raise his head to look Brynjolf in the eye.

He'd sucked Brynjolf's cock and there was no taking that back. But that didn't mean that anything had changed. Brynjolf had said it wouldn't. He'd made Alik promise.

"Is that better, then?" Brynjolf asked. His hand came to rest on Alik's shoulder, oddly light, as if he were hesitating to touch.

Alik nearly shook the hand off. Nearly snarled _Fuck you_ because suddenly he was hurting and didn't know quite why. Nearly--the words caught just on the tip of his tongue-- said _No, sir, no, it's still awful, I need_... to see if Brynjolf would gather him up in his arms again, kiss him, give him more. But he wasn't that shameless, or that brave. Or that pathetic.

"Fine," Alik said, and managed a smile. From beneath his curls, he tipped a glance up at Brynjolf to see how he was being received, and got to see Brynjolf's face relax into a grin. Did his tension look like shyness, then? The ordinary sort of awkwardness you might get between two colleagues after their first fumble in a sewer, if that actually happened often enough to be called _ordinary_.

"Don't worry about things tonight," Brynjolf said. "I'll see that everything's sorted out for you. But... you probably don't feel much like sleeping in the Cistern tonight, I imagine."

It was only then that Alik realized what Brynjolf was talking about: his disastrous job at Goldenglow, and Mercer's humiliating punishment for it. His stomach turned over at the reminder. "No. I-- no."

"Take this," said Brynjolf, pressing a key into Alik's palm. "There's a safe house over in Dryside. The garret room above the empty Redvane Manor. Lie low for a few days and let me handle the talk around here. Wouldn't hurt to keep you out of Maven's sight, either."

Alik curled his fingers around the key. It practically glowed in his palm, warm with the heat of Brynjolf's body. He'd never been entrusted with the location of one of the Guild's safe houses before, let alone access. He'd not slept in an actual house since his days at the damn Orphanage. He'd _never_ lived in a room all to himself.

"Thank you," he said roughly, because he'd been silent for too long.

Brynjolf squeezed his shoulder. Alik knew he shouldn't look up, but he _wanted_ to, and when he did, sure enough, Brynjolf's eyes crinkled warmly enough to make Alik's heart tremor. That was dangerous, given how close he was to Brynjolf, how easily his mentor might see something in Alik's face.

"Get some rest, lad," Brynjolf said. Head ducked again, Alik let himself be steered toward the Ratway's drawbridge, Brynjolf's hand on his shoulder far more powerful than its weight ought to be. "I'll see if I can't find you a job to take you out of town for a few days. Delvin has a few things. And I'll be having words with Mercer, I promise you that."

"Sir," Alik blurted, then stopped because he had no idea what to say. For a moment he thrilled on the edge of impulse, almost ready to grab Brynjolf's armour and haul himself up for a kiss. But the moment passed and his courage faded-- thank Stendarr it faded-- and Alik found himself tongue-tied in the aftermath.

"Thank you," he said again, to his feet.

"I've got you," Brynjolf said, and... was it Alik's imagination that there was something there, some rough edge to cover over a tenderness Alik wasn't supposed to have heard? A hint that Brynjolf might also be remembering how he'd said those words with his hand on Alik's cock and Alik moaning against his throat? "Now get going. I've got things to do."

Alik went, the key burning a hole in his pocket and the memory of Brynjolf's hands hot on his skin.


End file.
